


While You Were Busy Being A Creature Of The Night, I Studied The Blade

by Stairre



Series: Love Bites (But So Do I) [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Vampire, But actually good communication despite the inherent ridiculousness of the setting, But also, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Trans Male Character, two idiots one braincell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stairre/pseuds/Stairre
Summary: Drift would like to make this very clear: he did notmeanto stab a vampire on his way back from the laundrette on a hazy Thursday night in midsummer.---Or: Drift's taste in men might be a bit questionable, Rodimus is maybe the Worst Vampire Ever, and Minimus may be small, but his silent judgement certainly isn't.Also, the author was forced to bump this up to an Explicit rating (despite there not actually being a proper sex scene) because these two insisted on having an important conversation while getting frisky. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Series: Love Bites (But So Do I) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993855
Comments: 16
Kudos: 100





	While You Were Busy Being A Creature Of The Night, I Studied The Blade

**Love Bites (But So Do I)**

**  
  
While You Were Busy Being A Creature Of The Night, I Studied The Blade  
  
  
**

–  
  
  


Drift would like to make this very clear: he did not _mean_ to stab a vampire on his way back from the laundrette on a hazy Thursday night in midsummer.   
  


It all happens rather fast; one moment, Drift is taking an alleyway shortcut with his duffle bag of clean-but-damp clothing hoisted on one shoulder and his hand in one pocket clutched around a penknife because this is still the shitty side of town – and the next moment, a red-haired weirdo is suddenly _there_ , where no person had been before, even accounting for the deepness of the shadows of the building in the waning light.  
  
  
Drift doesn’t even think, he just _stabs_. To be fair, he didn’t actually get a chance to think. Long ingrained instincts have him burying the penknife into flesh before he’s even really registered that something’s leapt towards him in a blur too fast for his eyes to actually catch.  
  


“Ow!” complains the something.  
  


_Oh, God.  
  
_

“Um,” says Drift, trying not to panic. His hand is still wrapped around the handle of the penknife, sunk up to the hilt in the stranger’s abdomen. Thoughts of prison clutter into his mind.   
  


“You know what?” says the stranger. “That’s fair. You win this time, buddy.”  
  


“What?” says Drift.   
  


The stranger steps backwards, before Drift has a chance to let the knife go so that it _stays inside them so they don’t bleed out._ No blood seeps from the cut, however, though the band t-shirt above will need a good stitch. Drift stares down the clean blade of the penknife; he was sure it had stabbed into flesh.  
  


“Sorry about that,” says the stranger. Drift’s eyes dart up to get a proper look at him; red hair, a smattering of freckles, bright blue eyes, and a mouth pulled in a grin just a bit too wide, a bit too big, a bit too… sharp. “It’s my own fault, really. I didn’t put in an order for more blood bags in time and now I’ve run out. Delivery’s not ‘til Tuesday, though. You know how it is.”  
  


Drift thinks of saying, _No, I don’t know how it is._ He also thinks of saying, _What the fucking hell._ And also, _What are you on?_ He does also give a thought towards just letting out a scream. What ends up coming out is: “Sorry about your shirt.”  
  


“Nah, nah,” the maybe-vampire waves him off. “I mean, I like this shirt, but, like, I was coming for your _neck,_ dude. Fair’s fair.”  
  


Drift grimaces. He folds the penknife back away, for lack of knowing what else to do. “Wasn’t feeling like dying tonight.”  
  


The almost-certainly-a-vampire startles. “No!” he says quickly. “I wouldn’t have killed you. Just taken a bit of a bite. You wouldn’t even remember after.”  
  


“That is so reassuring,” Drift says, flatly.  
  


The vampire smiles at him winningly. “I know you’re being sarcastic,” he tells Drift, “but you’d have been fine. Maybe you might have wondered later where twenty minutes or so of your memory went, but no permanent harm done. I’d have even walked you home.”  
  


“You know where I live?” asks Drift, concerned. He doesn’t feel like he’s in the wrong for not wanting a vampire to know where he lives.  
  


“No,” says the vampire, “but you do, and I’d have followed from the shadows to make sure nothing happened to you.”  
  


“Really,” says Drift.   
  


“Yep,” says the vampire.  
  


“You know, I think I’d like to go home now.” Drift rubs his face, tired. “I have to go re-evaluate my view of the world, and also hang up my washing. And it’s getting chilly out.”  
  


“Oh,” says the vampire, sounding a little disappointed. “Well, it was nice to meet you.”  
  


“Please don’t take it the wrong way if I say that I can’t say the same,” Drift replies. “I like my memories where they are, thanks.”  
  


“Yeah,” now the vampire sounds truly glum, “I suppose that’s fair, too.”  
  


Drift leaves.  
  
  


–  
  
  


“Hey,” says the vampire, hanging from Drift’s windowsill by his fingertips. The alleyway the window overlooks is maybe twenty or so feet below.  
  


Drift nearly gets the window shut before a set of lightly-clawed fingers grasp the edge that the panel would slide down into and prevent him from doing so. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he demands.  
  


“Wanted to see you again, I thought you were pretty cool,” says the vampire. “I’m Rodimus, by the way. Sorry we didn’t do introductions the other night. You seemed pretty eager to leave.”  
  


“I wonder why,” Drift mutters under his breath. “I’m Drift,” he says aloud. “There, curiosity sated. What do you want?”  
  


“Company,” says Rodimus brightly. “You’re the only guy I know around here. Just moved in, you see. Job transfer. I want a second opinion on living room furniture.”  
  


“Living room furniture,” repeats Drift.  
  


“Yeah,” Rodimus explains. “My new flat didn’t come furnished like my last one, so I’m making a trip out to the IKEA. But I hate shopping alone ‘cause I have no impulse control and I see things and like them in the shop and hate them when I get home. Also, shopping by myself is boring. You wanna come?”  
  


“Sure,” Drift says after a moment, “why not?”  
  


“Great!” says Rodimus, letting go of the windowsill and falling all the way down to the pavement below. He shows no signs of wear or tear for falling from a height that would seriously injure a human. “I’ll meet you out front!” he shouts up.  
  


Drift closes the window. He takes a deep breath, exhales, and then goes to find his shoes.  
  
  


–  
  
  


“So, like, I don’t _melt_ in the sun, that’s just hearsay,” Rodimus says, hand wrapped around a glass of lemonade – Drift doesn’t keep alcohol around – and gesturing somewhat perilously with it, “but I can burn; we have very sensitive skin. However! Factor fifty sun cream, baby. _So_ much better than before. One of the best inventions yet.”  
  


Drift nods along. “And the blood?”  
  


“We’ve had that figured out for decades now,” brags Rodimus. “Same time blood donation started taking off. Blood has an expiry date, you know? Hospitals can’t use it after it, but we can still drink it. No sense in waste.”  
  


“You can drink lemonade,” Drift nods at the glass he gave Rodimus earlier, “and you bought that chocolate bar as well.”  
  


“Human food and drink ain’t poison,” Rodimus explains, “we can still have them. They just don’t do anything but taste good. Like fizzy drinks. No calories, but you still enjoy them.”  
  


“Not quite as angst-filled an existence as Hollywood would have everyone believe, then?” asks Drift.  
  


Rodimus laughs, a little bitter. “I can do all the things a human can do,” he says, “except die.”  
  
  


–  
  
  


Rodimus has blood bags in his fridge. Drift doesn’t know why he’s surprised.  
  


He grabs one of the cans of Diet Coke on the next shelf up – Rodimus keeps his blood in the vegetable drawer in the bottom of the fridge – and goes back towards the living room.  
  


Rodimus is playing against the computer in a racing game – the original _Super Mario Kart_ , he said. Rodimus still has an old SNES, and his gaming consoles are pretty much his pride and joy.  


Drift can’t really relate – he grew up too poor to have one of his own – but according to Rodimus, vampires sleep for around five or six hours a couple of times a week. That’s a lot of free time left over. Apparently, time-consuming hobbies are the norm for his kind.  
  


“Are ya winnin’, son?” Drift asks, purposefully putting on a stupid voice.   
  


On the screen, Rodimus’ car narrowly avoids smashing into a barrier as the vampire behind the controller makes a startled laugh. Rodimus turns a bright grin on Drift, uncaring as to how it shows off how sharp his teeth are. “You want a go?”  
  


“No, thanks,” Drift says, sitting down on the newly-bought sofa next to Rodimus. “Not really my thing.”  
  


“Aw,” Rodimus says, teasing, “c’mon. I’m _ancient_ and I like video games. A young whipper-snapper like you should be all over these!”  
  


“How ancient?” Drift asks.  
  


“Old enough to remember when young’uns like you respected your elders,” Rodimus says exaggeratedly. “The good old days, when things were both easier and harder.”  
  


“Oh?”  
  


“Harder because running water and electricity and sun-cream weren’t really a _thing_ for a good long while,” Rodimus says, pausing the game and stretching. “And people were like a thousand times more superstitious; nowadays, people glimpse the fangs and ask if Halloween came early this year.”  
  


“I suppose life must have changed a lot for you, over the years,” Drift murmurs. “We live quite differently now, even from just a century ago.”  


“Used to be easier back when things were still less inter-connected,” Rodimus explains. “Could just live in the woods or something and be fine ‘cause animals are super-avoidant of vampires, but now that motorways and cars and cameras and satellites and the internet are a thing, we gotta find other ways to live. Man, there are a _lot_ of things that’re different these days, but I think I like most of them.”  
  


Rodimus doesn’t tell Drift how old he is, and Drift doesn’t ask again.  
  
  


–  
  
  


“You know,” Rodimus says, some three or so months into their acquaintance, “you’re really hot.”  
  


“Uh,” says Drift, who has spent the last few weeks quietly coming to terms with the fact that Rodimus’ bright eyes and soft hair and sharp teeth now haunt his dreams. Cold skin and an unbeating heart should be a turn- _off_ , damn it. Drift is not a necrophiliac.   
  


Rodimus is very lively for someone who’s technically a corpse, though.  
  


“Like, really-really,” Rodimus says, leaning across the table and smiling at Drift, eyes glowing like a cat’s in the moody lighting of the restaurant, a hint of fang slipping out from between his soft lips. Rodimus has a distinct taste for Greek food. “Far too pretty for your own good.”  
  


“I think you’ve been reading far too much shōnen-ai if you think a line like that is going to work,” Drift says, like his face isn’t trying to flush and a part of his dumb hindbrain isn’t shrieking _yes!_ to the concept of someone like Rodimus _claiming_ him as one of his own. Be still, his beating heart. “Not really into the whole ‘jealous boyfriend’ trope.”  
  


But Rodimus’ smile widens, losing the smirk-like edge it previously had. Drift belatedly remembers how good Rodimus’ senses are – he can probably hear Drift’s heart-rate spiking, smell the arousal warming his body. It’s, uh. It’s both embarrassing and thrilling, to be honest.  
  


“I’m not an asshole,” Rodimus says quietly, pitching his voice low in the murmur of the restaurant. “The territorial stuff comes with the whole vampire thing, ‘cause our brains get fully rewired in the transformation. That doesn’t mean I can’t recognise controlling behaviour when I see it. And – look. Drift. I really like you, and I’d like to give dating a go. But I want to be your friend more than I want that; your company means a lot, inauspicious first meetings aside.”  
  


Drift absorbs that, fiddling with his glass. “I enjoy your friendship,” he says finally. “And I… would not be _averse_ to trying out dating.”  
  


Rodimus fist-pumps the air, right there in the restaurant, in front of Drift, the waiter, God, and everybody.  
  
  


–  
  
  


Kissing someone who has fangs is an _interesting_ experience.  
  


It’s not so much that Rodimus has, like, snake fangs. Or a mouth full of shark teeth. No, nothing quite so obvious. Rather, he has a mouth full of teeth that are _just_ a bit too big, a bit scraggily and uneven, like mountainous ground, though not unclean.  


In fact, Rodimus has _very_ white teeth for someone who lived before the invention of whitening toothpaste.  
  


Still, Drift could cut his tongue on them if he’s not careful. So they’re careful.   
  


As Rodimus says, “I don’t want to make a meal of my boyfriend, even if he _is_ a snack.”  
  
  


–  
  
  


There is a bat on Drift’s bedroom windowsill. A bright red bat.  
  


He opens the window, and the little creature lets him gather it into his hands with no complaint. Bats, Drift finds to his surprise, are actually rather fluffy.  
  


“I didn’t know this was actually a thing,” he says, settling the bat down on the coffee table. It makes a chirping noise and dives for Drift’s mug of peppermint tea, splashing it over the table as it attempts to gulp it. “Hey!”  
  


The cheap coffee table makes a worrying creak as the bat very abruptly grows several feet in all directions and becomes Rodimus. “Yeah,” says his undead boyfriend, “it _is_ a bit of a stereotype, isn’t it? Just had to be a _bat,_ didn’t I?”  
  


Drift blinks. Rodimus launches into a brief explanation at the confused look, always excited to explain things to his cute human boyfriend.  
  


“Vampires have an animal form to help us blend in,” he says, clambering off the table. “Always something pretty common, so not _always_ a bat. Really useful in Ye Olden Days, for getting away and slipping places unnoticed. I know a guy who’s a fox, for example. But, yeah. Since Bram Stoker wrote that book, I get nothing but laughs, even if _I did it first, damn it.”  
  
_

“Should have copy-righted it,” Drift tells him, dabbing at the spilt tea with tissues. Rodimus is the kind of guy who makes messes appear around him, even when he’s not trying to. Perhaps _especially_ when he’s not trying to.  
  


“Hindsight’s twenty-twenty,” Rodimus groans, slumping down next to Drift on the sofa. “Cuddle me,” he demands. “I’ve had a shitty day and I deserve snuggles.”  
  


Drift is entirely in agreement of this: Rodimus is eminently huggable.  
  


He also discovers that evening that vampires can purr, despite Rodimus’ adamant denials and the suspiciously purr-like noise he insists he doesn’t make.   
  
  


–  
  
  


“Here,” Rodimus says, chucking something at Drift for him to catch. “Noticed you were running low.”  
  


Drift looks down to find a pack of sanitary pads, his preferred brand. His blood runs briefly cold. “How – ?”  
  


“They’re under your sink,” Rodimus says. “Sorry, didn’t mean to go poking but that’s where you said the cotton balls were. Uh. I didn’t mean to over-step? It’s not like it’s a big deal, I knew from way ages ago. Um.” He begins to look nervous.  
  


Drift – calms, a little, at Rodimus’ earnest blabber. “What gave it away?” he asks, because his voice has been wrecked by old addictions for years and his breasts are long gone. And Rodimus hasn’t been inside his pants yet.  
  


“Oh!” Rodimus says. Then – “I could smell your blood. Y’know, when you’re menstruating.”  
  


“That’s – huh. Well, I haven’t heard that one before,” Drift admits. “Was trying to think of how to bring it up without making a big deal out of it, but. You kinda handled that bit for me.”  


“Is it a big deal?” Rodimus asks.  
  


“Some idiots say it is.”  
  
  


–  
  
  


Rodimus takes Drift out stargazing when the seasons turn cold, late autumn sliding away into early winter. The night is crisp and clear, and the stars outside the city lights are breath-taking.  
  


Rodimus mumbles stories of how much clearer the stars used to be, and how light pollution sucks, and how beautiful Drift is in the starlight.   
  


Drift drags him down into a kiss, then another, and then another. They don’t go home until Drift’s fingers go numb with the cold and Rodimus over-reacts and scares himself with the prospect of his more-fragile boyfriend getting frostbite.  
  


It’s definitely one of the better dates Drift has ever gone on, even if the memories of squinting at the faint stars through the smog of city with Gasket by his side linger heavily in the back of his mind.  
  


Gasket would have been happy, Drift thinks, to see him now.   
  
  


–  
  
  


“Wait, shit,” Drift says, reluctantly coming back down to a world in which he has to be a responsible adult. “I ain’t got any condoms.”  
  


Rodimus – three of his fingers inside Drift and his thumb pressed into Drift’s clit and rubbing teasingly – says, “Shit, I don’t either.”   
  


Drift looks down, annoyed, at Rodimus’ stiff length, bemoaning that he’s not about to have it inside him. His muscles twitch and clench and it’s _not fair._   
  


“Um,” says Rodimus. “So, not to sound like a total jerk, but. We don’t actually need condoms.”  
  


“Oh?” Drift is both curious, and a bit wary. Nothing good has ever really come of a partner insisting that protection is not necessary, but Rodimus also isn’t human so he gets the benefit of the doubt.  
  


“Vampires are infertile. The whole ‘half-vampire’ trope is a human creation,” Rodimus says. “Like, not to put too fine a point on it, but this body is dead. Reanimated by unnatural forces, maybe, but there’s not a single living cell in this thing. Including sperm. And STDs are equally non-issue. I’m clean. Like, I fully respect your right to be wary of unsafe sex – applaud it, even – but if you’re still up for it, then there’s no danger.”   
  


Drift considers this. “No lie?”  
  


Rodimus looks at Drift seriously. “No lie,” he says, firmly. “Promise. No possibility of pregnancy, no transferable diseases. We don’t have to, we can wait ‘til we have condoms. I’m only game if you’re game.”  
  


Drift drags Rodimus down for a kiss, rolling them both over and straddling him. “I’m riding you into the sunset, then,” he says.  
  


Rodimus gives a startled laugh and grips Drift’s hips, pulling them down to grind against his own. Drift moans. “Think you can tame _this?”_ he challenges, teasingly.   
  


“Rather run wild next to you, if it’s all the same,” Drift tells him.  
  


Rodimus’ erection is cool where it slips between Drift’s warm folds. “I – yeah,” he says, gasping a little as Drift’s thighs clamp down. “That sounds g-good. _Ah!_ So-sounds – _great.”  
_  
  


–  
  
  


The other vampire is… small. He’s dressed in a green waistcoat over a white linen shirt and barely comes up to either Drift or Rodimus’ chest, but according to Rodimus’ stories, he could likely dead-lift a lorry.  
  


“I’m Minimus Ambus,” he says, stiffly, extending his hand out to shake.   
  


“Drift,” Drift replies, taking the hand and shaking firmly, some echo of Gasket telling him to always shake hands with ten times the confidence you feel whispering in the back of his head.  
  


“And I’m Rodimus!” Rodimus says cheerily. “Now that we all know who’s who, how's life been, Mags?”  


Drift doesn’t know how Rodimus got _Mags_ from _Minimus_ , but he barely gets the chance to wonder before Minimus is scowling and berating Rodimus for it, steam-rolling over Rodimus’ good-natured laughter.  


“We’ve known each other for centuries,” Rodimus had told him earlier, “so don’t worry about us if we look like we’re arguing. Minimus is like a vampire Hermione Granger – he’s all rules and laws and no-fun up until the chips are down, and then he turns into some kind of rules-lawyering, loop-hole-finding, Set-Rule-Books-To-Kill, too-much-strength-how-do-you-fit-that-inside-your-tiny-body, way-too-OP-please-nerf Vampire Warrior. A friend for life!”  
  


“Do you even need to breathe?” Drift had asked.  
  


“Technically, no.”  
  
  


–  
  
  


“You’re Rodimus’ lover,” Minimus says, when things calm down and they’re sat around a table with snacks spread in the middle. Rodimus has briefly left to clatter about in the kitchen, though the implied privacy is only an illusion; vampire hearing is very sensitive.  
  


“Yeah,” Drift says. He doesn’t add _have you got a problem with that?_ because he doesn’t need that sort of YA novel cliché line in his life.  
  


“How did you meet?” Minimus asks, all detached curiosity and intense eyes. “He’s never introduced a partner to me, before.”  
  


“I stabbed him,” Drift says, deadpan.  
  


Minimus blinks. “You… stabbed him?”  
  


“Yep.”   
  


“Hm,” Minimus says, like that’s a word and not a sound of vague meaning.  
  


Drift quirks up an eyebrow. All those hours as a teen in front of the mirror perfecting the ability come in useful at the strangest times. He and Minimus proceed to have the world’s tensest staring contest, a type of competition Drift had thought long behind him. He regrets starting it because vampires don’t need to blink.  
  


After a few moments, Minimus nods, decisively. “My well wishes to you two, then,” he says, breaking the hard stare for a more natural approach to casually looking at your conversation partner. “May you cultivate happiness together.”  
  


Drift isn’t forced to come up with a smooth response to that because Rodimus chooses at that point to come back from the kitchen and say, “Why are all your spices alphabetised, Mags?”  
  


Drift leans back in his chair as Rodimus and Minimus snark at each other, and thinks that he feels very happy indeed.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: Drift works as a nurse in Ratchet's free clinic. Ratchet loves his dumb ass and he Most Definitely Did Not Weep Like A Grandmother What Are You Implying at the wedding. 
> 
> He also had a weird conversation with a fellow in a green waistcoat with some very impressive facial hair about blood donations in his clinic. Drift's new hubby keeps strange friends.
> 
> I can also be found on [tumblr!](https://stairre.tumblr.com/) Come and say hello!


End file.
